


change my needs

by adreamaloud, daneorange (adreamaloud)



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:52:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/adreamaloud, https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/daneorange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dyson, Lauren, drinking. After.</p>
            </blockquote>





	change my needs

**Author's Note:**

> Probably not what you're thinking. Spoilers up to 3x10. Title is from that song playing while they're drinking toward the end of the episode.

_How will I get over her?  
I'll let you know._

When the wreckage of it clears, Lauren finds herself waking in Dyson's bed. She opens her eyes to Dyson's bare ceiling, registering a slight pulsing right in the middle of her eyes, what with all the light that filters in through the curtains. Hangover, she just thinks, rolling off her side of the bed.

She's been here before -- that time Kenzi was not Kenzi. She remembers that well -- that chilling moment she realized how eroded her trust had been, and all she had were Dyson's eyes to look into, and well.

_Dyson_ , she remembers, instinctively feeling for her blouse.

Still there, wrinkled with the collar decidedly askew but nevertheless -- still _on_. When she turns to look behind her, it is empty. The feeling the grips her is half-panic, half-relief.

She finds Dyson sleeping on the sofa, an arm draped over his eyes, snoring softly. Lauren finds herself laughing at the sight of him, disheveled and unguarded.

_Two discards in a room_ , she just thinks to herself, wishing there was a science joke in this somewhere, but she knows (she knows, she knows) there is none.

*

Life goes on, business as usual. For the most part, Lauren is content just being holed up in her lab, minding her own business. It surprises her, just how much has been left unfinished -- research dropped every instant that Bo needed some work done, files opened halfway and never seen through to the end. _Finally_ , Lauren almost thinks, absently running a fingertip across the open pages, slow like worship.

Bo eventually gets better at respecting space; in the days that immediately followed, they struggled with some sort of bargaining -- two days, two hours. It pained Lauren to watch Bo standing by her doorway, like she were hoping for a kind of truce. _Two minutes_. Lauren nearly wavered at that; but then, it's just a break, wasn't it? Just a moment to think things through. If there was someone who knew a thing or two about waiting things out, it had to be her.

"That's just not how this works, Bo," was what she said the last time. Bo said nothing on her way out.

Days later and with only about a quarter of the way left through the second paper she is reading, Lauren looks up to a knock at the door. These days, knocks often meant Bo was on the other side, hoping for a better time. She's actually rehearsing her lines in her head and steeling her chest for whatever it is when she opens the door, only to find Dyson standing there. Lauren only flashes him a confused look.

"Trick asked me to come down. We've missed you at the Dal."

Lauren sighs, opening the door wider. "So have I," she just says, shrugging as she motions for Dyson to come in. "But then, you know how it is. We drew lines, and the Dal -- it's Bo's space."

Dyson smiles at her softly. "How's that arrangement going for the two of you?"

Lauren wants to laugh and cry at the same time. She's wondering mostly how Dyson does this -- be concerned without the douchebaggery. It's baffling, and more and more Lauren's resentment for herself, for having thought of Dyson as an enemy, grows exponentially.

"It is going well, actually," she admits. "Too well, in fact. I'm not quite sure which is harder anymore -- having to see her, or _not_ having to see her." At this point, she notices that Dyson is holding a bottle of wine, and Dyson laughs a little as he turns the bottle around a bit so Lauren can read. "Pinot grigio?" she says, incredulous.

"It was the only thing Trick would let me steal," Dyson explains, setting the bottle on the table.

"I didn't even know Trick had Pinot."

"Well," says Dyson, reaching for the glasses that Lauren's handing over. "He doesn't anymore."

*

The drinking doesn't bother Lauren, not even if it's with Dyson, of all people. If there are actually rules against drinking with one's ex-girlfriend's ex-boyfriend, Lauren doesn't really know nor does she care. At this point, she's just glad to have the company.

There are times when she does see, what it is that drew Bo to this man, in the first place. He's sturdy and dependable, and surprisingly comfortable to be around, after all.

"So. What have you found out so far?" asks Lauren, finishing off the rest of the wine.

"About what?"

"About getting over Bo."

Dyson only laughs, draining his cup in kind. "Not much progress on that part," he admits, and it worries Lauren, a little. And then, perhaps sensing this, he adds: "She's just waiting for you to be ready to get back together, you know that, right?"

Lauren sits back, sighing. "I'm not sure if I could get ready fast _enough_ ," she says. The word 'enough' rolls off her tongue smoothly, like a small metal ball. "I mean -- I'm still finding the rest of me, you know what I mean?"

Dyson nods, staring into the distance. "She does have that effect on people."

"What effect?"

"Loss," he says, touching the space over his heart absently.

When it's late, Dyson takes the empty bottle with him on the way out. "Thanks for the wine," Lauren says at the door, for the lack of any other thing to say.

"Same time next week?" says Dyson, smiling.

_This is going to be a thing_ , Lauren thinks, but what surprises her ultimately is how this doesn't jar her more than it does right now. "Bring tequila," she just says, trying to make light of it.

"Maybe," Dyson replies, walking away.

*

_Same time next week_ is less drama than Lauren actually expects; Dyson brings some of his case files for Lauren's opinion, and Lauren actually likes how their drinking sessions turn out to be consults in disguise.

"I have a theory," says Lauren, half-way through the night's bottle of tequila. "That you're actually getting my medical services and that you're trying to pay me through alcohol."

"That is exactly what I'm doing, doc," says Dyson, laughing. "You mad?" Lauren laughs in kind, hitting Dyson on the shoulder drunkenly. Dyson has half a mind to let out a soft and polite, "Ow."

"Only because you're turning me into an alcoholic," says Lauren, and at that, Dyson just pours her another shot.

*

Thursday night becomes Consult Night, and Lauren almost gets the hang of making dinner for two once a week. It should feel like a date but it doesn't, not really; for the most part, Lauren feels like she's just making dinner for an elder brother who's coming over. Looking at Dyson across the kitchen counter, forkful of greens in one hand and the dozen or so folders between them, it kind of fills Lauren with a sort of longing.

"I wish I had a brother," she says absently, playing with what remains of her pasta. Dyson looks up for a moment and grins before shrugging it off. "I'm serious. We'd go to pubs and do trivia nights together, that stuff."

Dyson looks at her, brows knit. "You have a very weird concept of a brother," he says, laughing.

Throughout the course of that night, Lauren finally manages to ask about the rest of them -- to be honest, she's missing Trick, and even Kenzi. When Dyson hands over a folder showing photos of the victims he's studying, it gives Lauren pause.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

Lauren blinks. "About Bo."

Dyson shifts visibly at that, like he were steeling himself. "What about Bo?"

"Is she--is she still killing?" When Dyson looks at her, it's like he's telling her -- he knows. About that time Lauren lied to save her. "I'm just--these girls…"

Dyson pulls the folder from Lauren's grasp gently. "Not succubus kills," Dyson says. "Though there were a couple of girls. Just right after--well." Lauren closes her eyes at that. "But we cleared that up. It's okay now, Bo's… _managing_."

"Good to know," Lauren just says, after a while.

It's the last they speak of Bo for a long time, and the rest of the night is spent finishing Dyson's bottle of red wine.

"Not that I'm ungrateful for the free booze," says Lauren, at the end of the last glass. "But what the hell is this drivel?"

Dyson laughs, shrugging. "Maybe Trick is onto something," he says. And then, off the subtle shift on Lauren's face, "Well, not _that_ something."

Lauren smiles, relaxing  a little. "It's not that I'm hiding," she says.

"Actually, you are kind of hiding," Dyson points out.

Lauren sighs, sagging against the couch, deflated. "Well, then. Keep me hidden some more, will you?"

*

Dyson misses a couple of Thursdays -- some otherworldly she-bang that she isn't part of anymore, Lauren just thinks bitterly, drinking an entire bottle of white on her own.  The once-a-week alcoholism is borderline alarming, this much Lauren knows, but in the end what worries her more is that she is still _slighted_. _After all this time_ , she thinks tiredly, quitting the bottle halfway through. It was foolish of her to think that she could hold on to that world after divesting so much.

It happens on a Friday. Lauren wakes right on her couch, still in last night's clothes, and a knock on the door jolts her upright. At the door, Dyson greets, half-apologetic, half-confused: "Sorry to miss Thursday." And then, "I'm kind of here on business."

Kenzi warily pops her head in, blinking. Lauren rubs her eyes, like she's wondering if she's only seeing things. "Kenzi?"

Kenzi smiles, and it's all rather endearing. "What's up, Doc?" she just says.

Lauren looks at Dyson, then at Kenzi, before settling finally on Dyson. "You two," she says, rubbing at the space between her brows. "Inside. Breakfast. Now."

*

Truth be told, this is the most number of people Lauren has entertained in her kitchen in, like, _forever_. Kenzi merrily pokes at her pancakes while Dyson sips his coffee quietly. Too quiet that it makes Lauren nervous.

"You said you were here on business," she opens finally.

Dyson sets down his cup before clearing his throat. He looks one more time at Kenzi before saying, "I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice."

"Bo's in trouble," Kenzi interrupts, and just by the way Dyson's face folds, Lauren can tell this isn't how they'd rehearsed this at all. It makes Lauren smile, kind of, the thought that anyone had to rehearse anything before coming to her; but then, right now she is more worried than amused.

"What kind of trouble?" Lauren manages to ask calmly.

Kenzi shuts her mouth and motions for Dyson to continue. "The kind that would send us here," he says instead. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't have to, Lauren, but you have to see her."

The way he says _have to_ punches a fist-sized hole right into her gut. She's lost track of the hours, the days, the weeks. She's worked through so much. _Am I ready?_

_Will I ever be?_

Lauren says nothing until the end of breakfast, when she finally stands to pick up Kenzi's plate and their cups so she can take them to the sink. Running water usually helps, she just thinks.

"She's asleep, if that’s going to make it easier for you," Dyson says, and when Lauren turns around he's standing by the door, arms crossed.

"She's in a coma?" asks Lauren, exasperated. _Not again_ , she thinks, frustrated. "When did this happen?"

Dyson looks down. "Last Thursday," he says, and in her head, Lauren goes, _Oh, so that's what it was_. "We meant to come sooner, but--"

Lauren turns the faucet on and runs her hand under it, relishing the cold. "You really don't owe me an explanation," she says, but she's unable to keep the bite out of it in the end. A part of her regrets having snapped at Dyson -- but a part of her is also relieved she let it out. "After all, what have we been drinking for, eh? You know how it is."

"Lauren."

Lauren turns around, wiping her hand against her slacks. "I will come and see her of course, it's not a question. I'm a doctor, for Christ's sake. I'll pull blood samples, tissue samples, test them and--"

Dyson pushes himself off the door and walks toward her, reaching for her shaking hands. His touch is warm and strange. "Lauren." He looks at her, and right there something shifts in his eyes -- like his pupils turning a shade darker. "Dr Lewis. Listen to me."

Lauren closes her eyes. All of a sudden, all of it is too much. "I'm a doctor," she says, softer this time.

"And you're the best we got," Dyson completes, tightening his hold around Lauren's hands. "Please."

Stranger things have happened, Lauren realizes, but none of them quite as strange as this: Her hands held by a man she once thought to be competition. "All right."

Dyson blinks. "All right?"

Lauren wipes her eyes and rolls her shoulders. "Yeah, all right." Dyson hugs her that same way he did when she told him that Kenzi was not Kenzi, and Lauren settles into this hug more comfortably, this time.

"You do know we'll be drinking back to Square One after this, hm?"

Dyson nods. "I'm sure I can now ask Trick for his better selections."

Lauren sighs before heading to her lab. "He better," she just says, collecting her things.  #


End file.
